


Waiting on his Knees

by Lady Divine Coldflash (fhartz91)



Series: On His Knees [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Dom!Barry, Dom/sub, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flogging, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Self-Doubt, Sexual Content, Sub!Len, coldflash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine%20Coldflash
Summary: After a stressful day at S.T.A.R. Labs, Barry needs Len's body - specifically his special version of submission - to help return his sanity.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Captain Cold/The Flash
Series: On His Knees [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884352
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93





	Waiting on his Knees

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-write for anyone who recognizes the premise <3

Barry stares at the manila folders bulging with reports Caitlin and Cisco left him detailing the specs on metas still at large. He scans through the carefully curated outlines of strengths, weaknesses, preferred weaponry, analyses of fighting styles, and last knowns till his vision begins to blur. He’d already been sent this information electronically, read it on his tablet, but when he hit a wall, he felt that if he had it printed out in a format he could physically manipulate and organize, it might help him find a pattern.

See what he’s missing. 

Time steadily passes with him stuck in the middle. 

Several times he gathers the pages together, puts them in order, and starts over from the beginning. He grumbles to no one, shoves a folder across the console, runs a hand through his hair over and over. He grabs and pulls, not flinching when he yanks a couple of strands free from his scalp. He does it on purpose, hoping that the sting might ground him, snap him out of his funk, but it doesn’t work.

At this rate, he’ll be burning himself with cathode tubes to make what he’s been doing since sunset seem less painful by comparison.

 _Why these five?_ he wonders, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. _Why can’t he capture these five? What’s so special about them?_ _What do they have in common that makes them so impossible to locate?_ As far as he knows, they’re not working together. They don’t have anything close to similar m.o.s. Via the informants they’ve been able to bribe into giving them intel, these five metas don’t even know one another. And yet they’ve been able to elude him for months in a bizarrely synchronized fashion.

Something shady is going on. And those informants must be in on it. Barry can feel it.

But _what’s_ going on is the question. 

Barry shakes it from his head, ready to start all over again. He pauses a moment to check the time on his phone.

_12_ _:13_ _a_ _.m._

_Fuck!_

He’s already over two hours and thirteen minutes late.

He’s going to have to call home, tell Len not to wait up.

He picks up his cell and unlocks the screen. He stares at it, thumb hovering over the keyboard, but he can’t do it.

He doesn’t want to break a promise to his husband.

He feels like he’s broken too many already.

Barry swore to Len that if Len backed away from his criminal empire, Barry would make it worth his while, spend as much time as possible with him as he acclimated to life as a law-abiding civilian.

Make sure he didn’t regret saying, “I do.” 

Part of that promise was that Barry swore he wouldn’t make being The Flash the crux of their married life. Yet here he is, stuck in S.T.A.R. Labs after everyone else on his team has gone home, two hours and thirteen minutes of that married life wasted being a superhero.

The numbers on his screen wink at him as they change.

_12_ _:14_ _a_ _.m._

Now he’s two hours and fourteen minutes late.

He slams his phone down, the screen complaining with a foreboding _crack._ He looks up at the ceiling, running his fingertips down his face and blinking into the halogen lights. He needs to do something other than sit at this console, reading the same reports - reports he has memorized down to the punctuation - over and over until his eyes bleed.

He needs to get out.

He turns the phone over, assesses the damage.

 _Hmmph. No worse than last time,_ he thinks bitterly. _I’ll have Cisco fix it in the morning._

Working between the slivers, he opens a text screen and sends a simple message to the first number on his call list.

_Get ready._ _I need you._

***

When Barry arrives at his apartment, it’s dark. And quiet. No music, no television, no conversation. Noise from the street below can’t be heard through the soundproof glass at this height. The vibrant blue glow of street lamps outside brighten the room, but with its walnut hardwood floors and its earth-tone painted walls, the glow doesn’t illuminate it. It absorbs it, leaving behind only what it cannot swallow. He can see clearly only a single segment of floor and one leather armchair. That’s fine, because the only other thing he needs in the room is kneeling in the center, naked, head bowed, arms hanging at his sides, a leather flogger lying on a towel in front of him.

Barry smiles.

_He got the message._

Barry walks into the living room, locking the front door behind him. He drops his bag, removes his coat.

“Gorgeous,” Barry comments, taking a moment to savor. “Simply stunning.”

And he is.

Leonard Snart on his knees is a rare and beautiful sight.

Barry walks past his husband, his Converse sneakers padding softly on the floor, but Len remains motionless. He doesn’t react to the sound of Barry’s approach, doesn’t move without permission. According to Barry’s calculations, Len has been kneeling here for close to an hour - a last minute call from the CCPD had set Barry back, adding insult to an already open wound.

Yet Len doesn’t flinch.

Barry walks straight to the armchair and sits down.

“Come here, pet,” he commands, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his head in his hand in a pose of deliberate nonchalance. “And bring your little toy.”

Barry watches through half-lidded eyes as Len leans down low on all fours, a position which puts his ass deliciously in the air, to grab the handle of the flogger in his teeth, and then crawls to his Master, eyes glued to the grain of the wood beneath him. He stops at Barry’s feet and tilts up his chin, offering Barry the flogger, waiting patiently for Barry to take it.

Barry doesn’t right away. He looks down the lines of his husband’s muscular back, his skin both smooth and scarred, the tattoos he uses as a cover creating a motley mosaic. But each image has a purpose, each placement symbolic. Len is a man who demands perfection, precision. And the tattoos that cover his back declare the same in no uncertain terms … _if_ you’re given the opportunity to examine them.

Most people are not.

But those tattoos aren’t just a means to an end.

They’re an intricate work of art.

That’s what Len is to Barry. A work of art - timeless, whose interpretation transforms with age. Once upon a time, Leonard Snart had been the bane of Barry’s existence. He’d made Barry doubt everything - himself, his team.

His moral compass. 

But now, Len is the one thing in Barry’s life that makes Barry feel at home. Not his job at the CCPD that he worked so long and hard for. Not his position as protector of Central City by virtue of being The Flash. Both these things are noteworthy, points of pride. But sometimes they make him feel alone, isolated, like a nomad even though he travels nowhere, has never lived anywhere else.

But Len, and these quiet moments together, have become Barry’s anchor.

“Undo my pants, pet,” Barry says, hiding the thrill that this command sends through him. “You know what I want.”

Len kneels high with the flogger clenched between his teeth to tackle the button and zip of Barry’s slacks, obeys without a grunt, without a sneer, without an attempt at the sarcasm he’s so famous for. It makes Barry harder than hell to see Len like this - servicing him on all fours. As Len slips the button through its hole and slowly lowers the zip, Barry lets Len’s sins from the past scroll through his brain – the quips, the insults, the transgressions.

Even though they’ve worked past those and come out the other side a powerful couple hopelessly in love, remembering what a douche Len used to be makes seeing him on his knees this way that much more satisfying.

It’s a guilty pleasure, but it’s not a secret.

Len asked Barry once what he thinks about when he sees him on his knees, and Barry answered honestly, since he knows no other way. Besides, he had nothing to hide. And Len accepted it, revealing, with a wicked grin, that after they have a fight, he masturbates on Barry’s side of the bed while dreaming about all of the heists he could be pulling while he knows Barry’s whereabouts, the crimes he could be getting away with while Barry is otherwise occupied.

And he doesn’t clean up.

Which means Barry has slept on way more of his husband’s genetic material than he ever realized.

That’s when Barry knew they were okay.

That they would always be okay.

Len may have matured beyond his days as a criminal, but in Barry’s eyes, he hasn’t changed. And not in a derogatory way. Len is the same handsome, formidable man he’s always been, with a broader chest (since he spends most of his time at home working out), a sharper angle to his determined chin, but a softer smile.

A smile that belongs to Barry.

Len opens Barry’s pants and pulls his boxer briefs down below his cock and balls. Barry watches Len’s every move, a shiver dashing over his skin when the cool air and Len’s warm breath hits it. Len notices, but he doesn’t outwardly show his pleasure at this reaction, returning to his position on his hands and knees, waiting for Barry’s next command.

Barry puts out a hand and gestures for the flogger.

“Give, pet.” 

Without hesitation, Len places the flogger in Barry’s open palm, careful not to let it tumble and fall to the floor. Barry lets the flogger balance, wondering if he should let it drop and make his husband pick it up again, but he doesn’t.

That wouldn’t be fair. Not when Len is being so good.

Barry closes his fingers around the handle and weighs it in his hand. This flogger is one of Barry’s own designs - the handle made from salvaged wood from his old lab wrapped in leather from one of his past, failed costumes; nine, red tails from the same costume dangling from the end. Barry grips it tight until the handle in his grasp groans from the pressure. He brings up his other hand and runs his fingers through the tails, carding like he would his husband’s hair if they were lying in bed in one another’s arms, kissing gently, pulling comfort from each other.

That’s what they would be doing on any other night.

But that’s not what Barry needs right now.

This flogger, his husband’s body, Len’s talented mouth – that’s what Barry needs.

Barry hears Len’s breathing speed as he waits on the hard floor. Barry loves this part, when the anticipation finally hits. Barry makes a meal of dragging it out, giving Len’s mind time to wander, let him imagine what comes next and fight his body’s response to it, struggling to keep himself from getting hard, from whimpering with need.

The smile returns to Barry’s face, the one that had been ripped away earlier by work and stress and life outside of this haven he and Len have created.

Barry has been waiting over an hour for this. He doesn’t want to wait any longer.

“Suck, pet,” Barry commands.

Len exhales, preparing to take Barry in his mouth, an act he performs with relish. Barry slides down farther in his chair to meet Len rising up on his knees to sink his head over Barry’s crotch. There’s a routine to this, something that they’ve rehearsed, a technique that Barry prefers.

Len raises his eyes to meet Barry’s. This one time, he has permission. Len’s eyes, dark with desire, lock on to Barry’s, filled with silver forks of lightning. Len sticks out his tongue and licks at Barry’s head, lapping around the ridge and then up over the slit. Barry hums, his lips pressed tight together, not willing to give his husband too much praise too quickly. Len lowers his gaze. He licks with the flat of his tongue from base to tip, circling around again when he reaches the top.

Barry’s lips part and he gasps loudly. He can’t help it. Len’s tongue on his cock is too decadent. He can’t contain himself the way he should.

Len gazes up at Barry again with wide eyes, a hint of mischief tugging at the corners, then sinks down over Barry’s cock, his mouth adjusting to the fullness, his eyes watering, reacting like he did the first time, even after years together.

Len knows Barry is chomping at the bit for a taste of his heat, but he stops and swallows. Barry growls, pulling the flogger back and striking Len for stalling. But Len did it on purpose - to kick Barry into gear, remind him that there’s another person in this equation waiting for needs to be met.

Len never knew that spanking was a kink for him until Barry talked him into it. Len had scoffed so hard at it in the beginning. It wasn’t a matter of machismo. He didn’t feel his masculinity would be in danger if he let his husband spank him. He just felt that spanking was kind of childish, even if they were doing it for sexual gratification.

If Barry was dead set on hitting him during sex to get his rocks off, Len would rather his husband sock him in the jaw.

But Barry was patient, and expert in his persuasion.

Len is usually such a stubborn man.

He’ll forever be glad that that one time he wasn’t as stubborn as he could have been.

Len continues blowing Barry now that he’s gotten what he wants, following the vein in Barry’s cock with his tongue, taking him to the base, burying his nose is his husband’s curls.

“ _God_ ,” Barry breathes, up and out, until the sound of his moan fills the room. He loves that Len can take him like this, this deep. Len holds him in his mouth, enveloping Barry in his wet sheath. It’s a sensation that fills Barry’s body, floods his mind, erases the complications and smooths out the rough patches. “Good, pet. That’s … that’s good. Keep going … faster …”

Len sucks hard, pulling off Barry’s cock, and Barry gives Len another smack with the flogger, aiming the tails at his right ass cheek, which happens to be Len’s most sensitive. Len sinks down quickly and sucks his way back up, pausing for a moment to swallow around him. Barry resists bucking up so Len can do all the work. He hits Len again and again, spurring him on, signaling him to move faster, suck harder.

He gives Len a smack that sends a sharp crack resonating through the air, and Len stops sucking to moan.

Barry groans in frustration and swats him harder.

Before Len returns to his task, he glances up at Barry and smirks. There’s so much challenge in that one cocky grin.

 _There he is_ , Barry thinks.

 _That’s_ Barry’s snarky husband.

Len isn’t a sub, has never identified as one, and BDSM play isn’t really his thing. But Barry is a Dom, and Len loves his husband. _A_ _ll_ of him - his smart mouth, his soft side, his edges, the way Barry tries to give him his all every day.

The way Barry takes care of him, how it’s ingrained in his nature.

Len loves Barry without fail, so this he’ll do for Barry whenever he needs. 

Even though Len practices emulating a sub’s demeanor, he slips up every now and then. It can’t be helped when his husband’s ‘o’ face is so glorious, especially relaxed, that Dom persona itching beneath the surface to be set free.

But there are rules that they abide by, and neither one oversteps.

Len doesn’t stare. He isn’t permitted. He only peeks. But in that stolen glance, Len sees a furrow in Barry’s brow that shouldn’t be there, not when he’s close to cumming, not when Len can feel his husband’s cock throb against his tongue, when he hears those sinful mewls he makes right before he climaxes. There’s something there, tucked behind Barry’s desire to dominate Len, something that’s keeping Barry from entering the Dom space that allows him to turn himself over to the power that comes from commanding his husband to suck his cock.

When Barry cums in Len’s mouth, it’s not with the abandon he usually shows, or the enthusiasm; the drawn-out moan that lowers Barry’s voice, nor the shuddering that shakes Barry’s whole body and rattles the chair beneath him.

Not with the lightning that ricochets around the room, taking out light fixtures and demolishing knick knacks in its wake, which is why they keep the living room (and the bedroom) so empty.

Barry doesn’t even so much as crack a window, or leave a scorch mark on the floor.

Barry doesn’t say anything when he pulls Len up to kiss him, figuring Len won’t notice as long as he smiles, even if his smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“That was …” Barry murmurs, capturing Len’s lips, “ _incredible_ , pet. As always.”

“Thank you, _Master_ ,” Len answers slyly, but continuing to obey when Barry pries his lips open with his tongue.

“So tell me” - Barry says, intermixed with kissing Len slowly, lingering to sample his flavor on his husband’s tongue - “what can I do for you?”

Len pulls back an inch away from his husband’s mouth. He takes a full and complete look at Barry - barely undressed, pants undone, a disheveled mess.

A wreck in more ways than one.

His hair sticks out all over; the rims of his eyes red; his cheeks splotched.

Len knows Barry has been pulling his hair out over something.

And he was late. _Really_ late.

It’s been a longer day than Barry is telling him.

“How’s about you join me down here,” Len suggests, doing up the fly to Barry’s slacks. Barry looks confused, but he moves to the floor.

“Your knees bothering you?” Barry asks, leaning over to take a look. “I told you, we should get you a …”

But Len cuts him off, sitting on his rear and pulling his husband into his lap.

“Wha---what are you doing?” Barry asks as Len folds him up in his arms.

“You asked me what you can do for me,” Len says, placing kisses on Barry’s forehead. “This is what you can do for me. You’re going to sit here with me, you’re going to let me hold you, and you’re going to stop pretending that everything’s okay.”

Barry chuckles nervously. “I---” He starts, but he can’t continue. He wants to deny it. He wants to blow it away, dissolve it through that cathartic orgasm. But even with the amazing stress relief of using Len’s body, it weighs too heavily on his head. 

_What is he doing? What is he missing? Is he slipping up?_

_Why is he failing?_

_What if he wasn’t cut out for this after all? What if he was just a placeholder for another, better superhero this whole time, and that person won’t arrive because he’s messed with the timeline too many damn times?_

_What will the consequences be if he doesn’t figure it all out in time?_

Barry opens his mouth to say, “Don’t worry! I’m fine! It’s just been a long day …” But the first word doesn’t make it past his lips.

A sound that Barry hasn’t heard in a long time does.

“Come on,” Len whispers, catching Barry and rocking him when Barry raises his hands to cover his face. “I’ve got you, Red. I’ve got you.”

It takes nearly an hour for Barry to cry out his frustration, his anger, his fear. And after he does, when there isn’t a tear left and Barry finally finds his voice again, Len carries him to bed.

And there, with Barry’s permission, Len makes love to him.

Barry is a Dom. He wasn’t always. Not until he was struck by lightning and a seed of it was planted in him. It blossomed up around him and he grew into it. It’s served him well. He’s strong and confident, well-skilled at keeping himself under control. He has to be. He’s a superhero, tasked with the care of every citizen living in Central City.

It’s not a job he takes lightly. Then again, it’s not a light job.

But sometimes he needs someone to take care of _him_ , hold _him_.

Protect _him_.

If anyone had ever told Leonard Snart that that job would fall on his shoulders, he would have shot them between the eyes for lying. But here it is. _This_ is his life now. And in the end, Len will always be willing to wait on his knees when Barry calls, till his husband gets home.


End file.
